


holding back.

by dylaesthetics



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: 6a/b, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - College/University, Angst, Christmas, F/M, First Kiss, Friends to Lovers, Implied Sexual Content, Love Confessions, Mutual Pining, New Year's Eve, New Year's Kiss, One Shot, Post-Canon, Prom, Sharing a Bed, Slow Burn, Stydia, stydia christmas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-08
Updated: 2020-12-08
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:07:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,704
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27962006
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dylaesthetics/pseuds/dylaesthetics
Summary: “Did I do the right thing? When I kissed you, back then?” Lydia’s voice trembled.Stiles squinted. “You have to remind me which time.”“The first time.”-OR what would have happened if Lydia and Stiles had never kissed after he returned from the Wild Hunt.
Relationships: Lydia Martin/Stiles Stilinski
Comments: 6
Kudos: 50





	holding back.

Lydia never liked holding hands. Kissed cheeks. Fingers brushing against her forehead, shuffling through her hair. Lydia never liked any of those things. Not until those touches were coming from him.

She doesn’t know when. There was no moment of realisation, like a character in a movie widening their eyes and blurting it out over a voiceover or to a friend. She fell in love over time, over every kind word and every moment where she felt understood and adored by him. She fell for him when he wasn't around, when he sent her a picture of yet another dog roaming the Washington streets. She fell for him when he was a thousand miles away.

Yet she never said the word.

* * *

When Lydia’s memories brought Stiles back to Beacon Hills from the parallel reality he’d been trapped in for one too many days, or even before that, when Lydia would linger her fingers around Stiles’ a moment too long, that’s when their friends knew. When Lydia’s memory of their kiss from months and months ago created the bridge, Lydia knew for sure, too.

Facing Stiles, however, after three months of yearning for his presence more than ever before, Lydia could not deal with. When she entered the locker room, saving Stiles from getting shot by a ghost rider with her eerie scream, all she could think about was how much she wished she could greet him with a kiss. Yet she didn’t.

Seeing him in person, seeing him in his physical form again was simply too much. And as she ran up to him, waiting for her expectantly, she settled for an embrace instead. She had her second chance when he pulled away a minute later, still captured between her arms, and looked at her like she was the only person in the world. But Lydia didn’t take it then either, pulling him back in.

Half an hour, maybe an hour later she was in Stiles’ car, just the two of them. Her third chance was when he asked her where to go.

“Uh, my mum is expecting me,” she’d whispered through clenched teeth, neglecting the disappointment clear on his face.

Her last chance was when Stiles pulled up at her house.

“Lydia, I,” Stiles had turned off the engine, removing his hands from the wheel. “About what I said before I was erased.”

He’d glanced at her, eyes full of anticipation. She’d nodded slowly.

“You don’t… You don’t have to feel the same way. I just knew that if I was never going to return and I’d never said it, I would have regretted it,” he’d broken their eye contact and Lydia had been glad; she couldn’t deal with him looking at her that way. Guilty. Disappointed. Given up. “You don’t have to act on it. And you don’t have to be sorry if you don’t feel the same way. You don’t have to say anything.”

Lydia had been screaming in her head, ‘Say it. Just say it. Tell him you love him back. Tell him you have for a long time. Tell him now.’

“So,” Stiles had exhaled. “I hope that it didn’t change anything about our friendship. Did it? Can we still be friends?”

Lydia had nodded again, afraid to speak.

“Goodnight,” he’d said as if he was saying goodbye to whatever Lydia he’d imagined for the time being. A Lydia who would take at least one of her chances.

She’d left the car, determinedly heading for her house’s door. Then she’d stopped, turning back around. “Stiles, wait.”

“Yes?” he’d said, more hopeful. His eyes had lit up. Lydia’s call had been promising.

“I…” Lydia had not been able to say it. She couldn’t. And it wasn’t that she was too late; Stiles loved her. He still did. She felt guilty for all the time she didn’t love him back. She was not brave enough to after the feeling of loss she’d experienced when Stiles wasn’t around. What if she’d messed up whatever chance they had? What if her saying it back meant she would lose him, eventually, because of who she was. She didn’t deserve him, at least she thought she didn’t after everything she’d put Stiles through. She couldn’t mess it up with a relationship that she knew was ultimately going to fade away. She wasn’t good with those. And there was no way she could afford ruining one with Stiles. It was best if she didn’t act on it. “I left my jacket. Can I get it back? I, uh, need it.”

His eyes had darkened, but he’d leaned over to the now empty seat beside him to grab her jacket and hand it over. “Yeah, here you go.”

“And Stiles.” She’d summoned some courage, some way to tell him she still appreciated him being around. “I’m really glad you’re back.”

“I’m glad to be back, too. I’d missed you… You all. So much,” he’d smiled sadly, shifting his fingers around the wheel in an anxious manner. Lydia had been aware that he hadn’t wanted to go home alone. Yet she’d let him.

The second Lydia had closed the door behind her and watched Stiles’ Jeep disappear into the street, she’d broken down on the porch in front of her house, crying. 

She couldn’t accept his love. She couldn’t possibly deserve love like that. Pure and honest, and accepting. Stiles needed someone, anyone, who hadn’t waited so long to catch up, who hadn’t yet earned the love he was so willing to give her but will. She had to move on. She had to let that love go to someone else.

* * *

“I’m assuming I’m no longer talking to a single man.” Scott was grinning. “How was it?”

Stiles looked away from his friend sitting across the table from him at the cafe in the town, one they’d visit whenever they had something important to talk about, in a booth that separated them from the ears of eavesdroppers. He stared at an empty table by the entrance door, the only one they could see from the booth. On it, was a golden notice, saying it had been reserved. It was the table he and Lydia occupied every time they came here for coffee, and he felt a sudden wave of anger towards whoever booked it, like yet another thing that was theirs had been stolen away. Stiles reminded himself that it was only a table.

“How was what?” He pretended to not understand, stubbornly focusing on anywhere but Scott’s eyes.

“Reuniting with Lydia, of course.”

Stiles hissed. He hadn’t meant to, but at this point, there was too much anger bottling up inside him to care. “She hugged me.”

“Was that before or after you kissed?”

“Neither.” The longer Scott asked him questions, the more Stiles’ fingers trembled. “It didn’t happen.”

He finally looked at his friend, whose eyes widened. Scott’s reaction reminded him once again that it was real. Or rather, it wasn’t. “You’re kidding. You must be kidding.”

“She doesn’t have any feelings for me,” said Stiles unemotionally. This was not the time to start hiding them, but he was afraid that if he didn’t hold back, he’d end up crying. He couldn’t cry around Scott, not again.

“No. No, that’s not right.” Scott shook his head. “I heard her in the Jeep when we made contact with you. She cried. She was crying as she repeated your last words. She broke down completely, trying to bring you back. She was the only one who believed you existed from the very beginning. She loves you.” Stiles shut his eyelids, stroking his temple with one hand while covering his face with the other.

“She doesn’t.” Stiles reopened his eyes and the sudden brightness from the neon lights inside the cafe blinded him momentarily. Then Scott’s shape turned clear and he was still shaking his head.

“There’s no way. Are you sure?” he asked with his arms crossed.

Stiles nodded slowly. “She made it pretty clear. I’m a friend, Scott. I’ll always be only a friend to her.”

Silence surrounded them, apart from the clinking of dishes from behind the counter, and drowned out laughter from the tables outside the booth. Stiles wondered what their lives were like. Was laughter the loudest sound they’d ever have to make? Had  _ they  _ ever screamed in agony before? Had  _ they  _ ever lost someone to some supernatural force? Almost all of the town had been trapped in a parallel universe only hours ago. How were they going on with their days and having breakfast at a cafe, like nothing ever happened? Then, Scott interrupted the quiet.

“I don’t know what to say. I was  _ so  _ sure.” He looked down at his untouched cappuccino and the whipped cream on top melting into the drink.

Stiles exhaled shakily. “For a moment, so was I.”

“You need to talk to her,” Scott demanded, taking a spoon of the cream before it drowned completely.

“I’ve already said enough. Even Lydia would say something after what I’ve said. Even Lydia.” Stiles’ heartbeat rose both times her name fell from his lips.

“Maybe you’re overestimating her. Maybe she needs more time,” Scott approached him carefully; perhaps finally understanding that Stiles found their conversation uncomfortable.

Stiles looked up, straight into Scott’s eyes. If he could say the following to his face, Stiles might convince himself, too. “It’s done. Whatever I thought we had is over. I think that after this many years, I should realise that it’s not going to work out.”

Scott scoffed. “So you’re going to give up?”

“There’s not even  _ anything _ to give up on.” Irritation crept into his voice, which naturally radiated the feeling anyway. “There was nothing to begin with.”

“She  _ said _ she loved you. She said she loved whoever was gone when we’d all realised someone was missing,” Scott’s eyes narrowed. “She said it,” Scott repeated.

Regardless of what Lydia might've said in his absence, she never said it when he returned. “So she was thinking about someone else.”

Once again, Scott shook his head. “No, Stiles. You can’t give up.”

“Soon it’ll all be over. We’ll be at college, much farther than a few streets away. I’ll be able to move on, someplace where she won’t be around.”

Moving on. Stiles hadn't thought about it, not even for a second, yet it came out so easily. Had he given up,  _ really  _ given up? Waited around one time too many? If Lydia didn't feel the same way towards him now, Stiles predicted she never would. He could meet someone else when he goes to college, someone who he wouldn't have to wait on. Then again, Lydia never made the time seem not worth it.

Scott sipped from his cup, and, based on his scowl, the drink must've turned cold. He put the cup back down, licking the foam off his lips. “You’ve loved her for ten years. How are you going to stop?”

Stiles hadn't a clue. He’d never imagined a time where he would end the growing love he felt for Lydia. All he knew was that he had to, at last.

“I’ll just have to find a way,” he said, chugging down his drink in an instant. It was as cold as he'd imagined.

* * *

Returning to a life without much supernatural threat and pretending that nothing had happened had always come off as a challenge for Lydia, yet it was harder to stare at the faces of her schoolmates in the hallways this time. Only weeks ago, all of them had been taken by the Wild Hunt. Lydia didn’t know whether they had no memory of being erased or they, like Lydia, pretended. At times, however, Lydia noticed a change in the behaviour of her classmates, almost as if they were holding back from saying something. No one ever did.

By the day the senior prom date was announced, Lydia had quite forgotten to even be graduating in a few months. A part of her was thrilled to complete her lifelong dream of studying at MIT, but another couldn’t find a way to leave her mum and say goodbye to her friends without adding to the void in her heart. She couldn’t allow herself to leave the town behind unprotected, too. Liam’s pack would stay, of course, but she understood that the weight that was lifted from her pack’s shoulders onto theirs could be too much to bear. Lydia knew all too well how heavy that burden was.

On the week of the prom, after declining the fourth invite that morning, Lydia decided to spend her free period at the cafe in the heart of the town to catch up with the university’s pre-arrival tasks. When Lydia entered the parking lot, heading for her car, the call of her name from behind made her realise she would not spend the free period productively after all.

“I need to ask you something,” Stiles spoke breathlessly, having run after Lydia for quite some time.

Lydia’s eyes widened. She breathed in sharply before turning to face him. “What is it?” She squeaked out, predicting his next words.

“Prom,” said Stiles. Lydia’s heart started racing in her ears. “Are you going with anyone?”

“Some juniors asked me but I told them all the same thing,” Lydia pretended to ignore the heat creeping up in her cheeks.

“Which is?”

Lydia chuckled, crossing her arms. “Never in a million years.”

Stiles’ eyes lit up for a moment, but he stayed quiet, with his head down. Lydia swore she could cut the tension in the air between them; every shaky breath Stiles let out and every heartbeat that drummed against her chest.

At last, Stiles smiled, looking up at her in a softening gaze. “My junior days are over, so, uh, would you go with me?”

At that moment, Lydia wished to say  _ yes  _ more than anything. Dedicate a dimpled smile to him and take his hand, and squeeze it tight in agreement. Press her lips against his cheek like he had months before in the same parking lot. Instead, her smile dropped and she moved to hold her hands together behind her back.

“I don’t think I’ll be going to prom. Not a big fan of dances anymore,” Lydia’s voice broke more with each word she said. Stiles pressed his lips together but quickly let them form a sad smile.

“Yeah, that makes sense,” he cleared his throat. “I’m sorry for asking,” he added. Stiles lingered in his spot, scratching the back of his head, before turning his back to Lydia.

“Stiles, I… I would,” she called after him. Stiles swang back around, a glint of hope returning to his eyes. “Go with you, I mean. I said no to the juniors because I didn’t want to go with  _ them.  _ I said no to you because I don’t want to go to prom  _ at all _ , given the circumstances. I would love to go with you. If things were different.”

“You would?” His grin was genuine this time.

Lydia nodded slowly, embracing a smile this time. “Wouldn’t miss out on the awkward dance moves you make up on the spot.”

Stiles’ eyebrows furrowed. “Hey, I actually practised those!”

“That’s even worse,” Lydia teased, tilting her head. “But I had a good laugh back then. Before everything.” Both their smiles dropped.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t there on time. I wish I had been,” said Stiles, turning his head down.

Lydia shook her head quickly. “I was the one to ditch you, you just let me go. Then…” She paused, trying to slow her breathing. “I don’t know how Jackson found me then. Or why he was even looking for me.”

Lydia didn’t remember much of the night at the winter formal. The last flash of memory she had was standing in the middle of the lacrosse field, searching for Jackson. Everything after she had spent months trying to repress. Successfully, it seemed.

“A-actually.” Stiles connected their eyes once again. “Actually it wasn’t Jackson. I was there, well,  _ almost  _ there when Peter… I didn’t make it to you on time.”

Lydia blinked, confusion apparent on her face. “ _ You _ were there? But how did Jackson…”

“Peter let me call him before he took me away,” Stiles interrupted her. “I couldn’t leave you there. I couldn’t let you…”

Stiles searched for words, his eyelids twitching, but Lydia didn’t let him to for long. “Why did you never tell me?”

Stiles shrugged. “It didn’t matter to me. I was just happy you got to the hospital and you were alright. That is, eventually,” he added.

Although grateful for yet another time Stiles had saved her life, Lydia couldn’t shake off her frustration, which grew by the second. For all this time, Lydia had been thanking Jackson. 

“I gave Jackson a second chance because of it. I thought that he cared about me. But it was you. Of  _ course _ , it was you,” said Lydia, chuckling. It seemed too obvious now.

For a moment, she’d forgotten they were in the middle of the parking lot, like the world around them ceased to exist while he was in her presence. When someone honked, both of them moved away from the car’s way, subconsciously walking towards Lydia’s car. 

“He  _ did  _ care about you. He took you to the hospital,” Stiles reasoned, some sort of disappointment creeping into his voice. Lydia shook her head.

“You’ve saved my life more times than I was aware of. Yet you never take credit,” Lydia slowed her pace and Stiles followed her example. “Why?” She stopped entirely, turning towards him. Stiles was closer now, his arms hanging at his sides, and her hand almost  _ ached  _ wanting to reach for his.

Stiles shrugged, looking down at her hand, too. “What matters is the result, not the process.” He stepped away. It was Lydia’s heart’s time to ache. She couldn’t blame him, though. If she had acted sooner, if she had told him on time, she would have never let him stand so far away from her. She wondered what they’d be doing now, in their free period, if she had greeted him with a confession back in the locker room.

Lydia frowned. “You’ve rarely let me thank you.” She did once, at the beginning of Senior year, in her mum’s arms on the cool table of the animal clinic. Something that felt as though it could've happened a lifetime ago.

“I don’t want gratitude.”

They’d reached Lydia’s car and pressed their backs against the windows. Lydia would have invited him for coffee but it was not the right moment. Yet again.

“Stiles,  _ let  _ me thank you,” Lydia urged, staring up at him. He looked anywhere but at her, licking his lips anxiously. She wished more than anything to rid him of the anxiety. She hadn’t figured out how to yet.

When she’d kissed him in Junior year while he was having a panic attack, she wasn’t thinking right either. She was searching for some memory, something she’d read during her midnight Wikipedia deep-dives, something about how to help a person breathe. When she’d kissed him, that seemed like the only solution. Surprise. Shock. Something unexpected to get his mind off the terrible happenings in his life at that moment. A distraction. She’d spent many nights after wondering if a kiss had been the right call. Had she been misleading him? She’d tried asking him when a longer silence surrounded them while they’d sit alone in his room, investigating another supernatural case. Yet she never managed to open her mouth.

Perhaps it was the time she did.

“Let’s go then,” Lydia interrupted the quiet. “To prom. Together.”

Finally, Stiles looked at her, his expression unreadable. Lydia figured he was either trying to hold back his emotion or once again considered her feelings above his. “Are you sure? I don’t want you getting bad flashba-”

“I’m sure,” Lydia’s smile spread across her face as she reached down for his hand. She was growing tired of pretending she didn’t want to hold it. “I miss the terrible dance moves.”

Stiles tightened the grip around her fingers, but the firmer he held them, the more at ease Lydia felt. She shrugged off the urge to rest her head on his shoulder and shut her eyes, finding comfort in the smell of his shirt that was so distinctly Stiles. She had to wait until the dance floor.

“It’s a date then,” Stiles looked at her, wonderstruck. As much as she hated the force that was pulling her towards him every time he dedicated that kind of look to her, Lydia treasured each one. “Or not, I don’t-”

“It’s a date,” Lydia confirmed. Surprise filled his eyes and Lydia found her agreement just as unexpected to herself. Before she could fail to conceal her adoration, she attempted at clearing the tension between them. “And we’re going in  _ my  _ car, I don’t think the Jeep is ready for another dance.” Lydia stepped back from the window, waving at Stiles to get back, too, and opened the door to the driver’s seat.

“That Jeep has never failed me!” Stiles protested, dashing around the car to take the seat next to hers.

“Mexico?” she reminded him, tilting her head when both of them had settled down in the car.

“That was because of the berserker! My Jeep - she did nothing wrong!”

* * *

“Want to dance?”

At first, Stiles thought it must’ve been someone else,  _ anyone  _ else at the tables with the punch-stained tablecloths, which had been placed around the dance floor that only earlier that day had held the status of the school gym. But Stiles recognised Lydia’s voice too well; he could recognise it in a whisper from across the room. He turned his head, facing her on the chair opposite his with a surprised expression.

“ _ What? _ ” Lydia tilted her head forwards, furrowing her eyebrows and grinning at him like she wanted to punch him. Even with her death glare, Stiles could see right through her. She’d never wanted to hurt anyone. Stiles knew that the times she was forced to, lived in her nightmares. He wished there was some way Lydia didn’t have to visit them but out of anyone, Stiles understood best how difficult it was to let go.

“Last time it took a lot of convincing for you to dance with me. This time you’re the one asking. It’s just… Strange,” he said, leaning back in his chair, taking in Lydia’s appearance for the thousandth time since she’d picked him up at his house. He understood perfectly why their schoolmates glanced from Lydia to him oddly. In her best dress and with Allison’s necklace around her neck, Lydia might as well have been out of  _ anyone _ ’s league. It was no surprise to have had everyone’s eyes on them when he’d entered the gym with her by his side. What caught him off-guard, however, was that the second Lydia noticed their glares, she locked her fingers with his, and just as quickly, stopped minding their attention.

“Stiles.” Lydia darted up from her seat, placing her hands on the table. Over her chest, her necklace danced in the air from one side to the other. Stiles looked up at her face, afraid to have given the wrong impression, and found Lydia fighting an inner battle. She was grinning, looking up like she was trying to remember something but reconsidering saying what it was. Then, she connected their eyes. “Get up your cute little ass and dance with me now.” Lydia mimicked him from a long, long time ago, laughing the second she’d finished quoting him.

Stiles chuckled, covering his face with his hands shamefully. “I can’t believe I said it. It was so embarrassing,” he peeked through his fingers, watching Lydia’s cheeks redden just the same.

“No, it was… Intriguing. I still treasure your little rant,” Lydia’s expression softened.

“Every day I try to repress that memory.”

“You shouldn’t. You were quite adorable,” she admitted, straightening up determinately. Flustered at her remark, Stiles failed to realise he’d have to decide so soon.

“How about that dance then?” Lydia asked, holding out her hand. Stiles wanted to grab it and let her pull him up. But he wanted to tease her one last time as well.

“Pass,” he crossed his arms, looking away from Lydia. She dropped her arm, annoyance apparent in her expression.

“Stiles,” she hissed. “Don’t play hard to get. You know, I could go talk to those juniors…” Lydia began to slowly turn around. Stiles rolled his eyes but in moments, he was up on his feet, placing his hand on her shoulder to stop her.

“Fine, fine, let’s dance,” he said. Lydia turned back around with a confident smug on her face; she’d won. “You hypocrite.”

“I am not!” Lydia protested, letting Stiles lead her towards the centre of the dance floor. Stiles rolled his eyes at her once again. “Fine, maybe a little,” she admitted.

“It’s fine. I wasn’t expecting you to tell me you like me, anyway,” Stiles felt the grip Lydia had around his hand loosen. “Not that… It’s just because I did,” he tried to recover from his unfortunate slip-up.

“I know,” Lydia said behind him quietly, yet somehow Stiles could tell it apart through the uproar. He shut his eyes momentarily, facing the crowd. He couldn’t look at her.

“Sorry,” said Stiles when they’d reached his desired spot. Once the band had turned up after an awfully long hour of pop music blasting through the speakers, everyone had moved to the stage. The middle of the dance floor was the least crowded now. Perfect for avoiding other dancing partners. Perfect for hearing each other, except he wouldn't mind Lydia’s head on his shoulder, leaning into his ear to talk. Stiles scanned the room, seeing Scott and Isaac sit beside each other at the top row of the bleachers, holding hands over Scott’s lap. Almost immediately, Scott spotted him and Lydia, too, and nodded at Stiles encouragingly. It was time.

Stiles stopped, waiting on Lydia to follow his example. She stood in front of him frozen, with her eyes opened wide, only a few feet away. Their hands were still intertwined, but neither of them put the other in a position they could dance. He looked at her expectedly. After all,  _ she  _ had been the one to initiate the idea. But now, Lydia stared at him like she was in no mood to dance. Had he offended her? Had he ruined it?

“There’s something I…” Lydia started.

“Lydia,” Stiles uttered at the same time.

Lydia smiled for a split second but didn’t laugh, unlike Stiles.

“What?” she asked, her eyes filling with frustration.

Stiles shook his head, regretting to have ever said her name. “No, what were you going to stay?”

“You first,” said Lydia at once, dropping his hand. A sudden wave of disappointment struck his body. Whenever Lydia let go of him, he experienced the same feeling of loss, like she was forever gone. When the ghost riders took him from the Jeep, he had still been holding her hand. He never thought he would ever again.

“Why did you agree to go to prom with me? Was it just because you wanted to thank me?” Stiles noticed the distance between them then. They were closer than he’d remembered being from her for a long time, yet still too far apart to his liking. Lydia frowned, holding her hands together in front of her, over the bow of her dress.

“As I said, I initially didn’t want to go at all,” Lydia declared. “But then you told me it was you back then. And you know, you’re kind of like my guardian angel.” Stiles gave her a small smile. “It feels safe being here with you, despite the flashbacks. And even though some things are similar, others are different now.”

“What’s different?”

Lydia broke their eye contact, scanning the transformed gym like Stiles had a minute ago. He used the moment to look at her again. He’d never imagined someone like her ever wanting to come to a dance with him. A second time.

Lydia fixed her gaze on him again. “There are small things, like the decorations and the band. Bigger, like some of our classmates growing a beard and some coming with people they never would’ve two years ago. And then there’s the biggest.”

“That is?”

Lydia chuckled as if out of relief. “You’re here with me, not because Allison told me to go with you. I’m not running off to find Jackson. You’re here because I  _ wanted  _ to come with you,” her voice quietened.

“Why?”

“Because,” Lydia paused, shutting her eyes momentarily. Stiles stepped forward, reaching down for her connected hands and splitting them. He took both her hands in his. Lydia reopened her eyes, startling at the realisation of how close she was to Stiles’ face. Stiles tried to move away but Lydia disconnected one of her hands from his and pulled him back by the collar of his shirt. Stiles grunted in surprise, but to his relief, the music drowned it out. They were only inches away now. Stiles had seen her from this distance only once before, under very different circumstances. Instead of the sunlight, he stared at the flickering lights of the disco ball reflected in her eyes, the dampness on her lips from biting them for half of the night and the smile that tugged at her cheeks. While Stiles thought about how he had never wanted to kiss her more, Lydia shut her eyes, leaning even closer to him, his  _ lips _ . She moved the hand on his collar to his cheek blindly, tracing the skin on his neck and face, and with every millimetre she crossed, his heart was pounding faster against his ribs. Every movement of hers hinted at one thing Stiles couldn't dare to consider. Lydia wanted to kiss him.

“Lydia! Stiles! You have to see this.”

Like a whiplash, the pair drifted apart, letting go of each other completely. Isaac and Scott stood beside them,  _ their  _ hands still intertwined. If Stiles weren’t so angry at them, so willing to punch Scott for ever speaking, he would’ve thought they looked cute. He rid his face of the death glare he’d dedicated to Scott, glancing at Lydia instead. She had half-turned her back to them, her arms crossed so tightly that her knuckles had turned paper-white. She avoided his glance directly but Stiles could see her staring at him at the corner of her eyes. No matter how hard she tried to hide it, she looked embarrassed. Stiles shut his eyes momentarily before turning back to Isaac and Scott. He approached his best friend threateningly, leaning in close to his face so that Lydia couldn’t hear him. “Scott, I will  _ kill  _ you. We were in the middle of something.”

“You weren’t even dancing, come on, this is more important,” Scott spoke louder, ignoring Stiles’ hint. He pointed at somewhere in the crowd but Stiles didn’t bother looking. “Coach has paired up with Lydia’s mum!”

He could’ve kissed her. He could’ve kissed Lydia in the middle of the dance floor at their prom when she looked more mesmerising than ever. He could’ve kissed the only girl he had ever cared for that way. Instead, Scott was dragging him towards a table from which they could ‘have a perfect view of the coach's awkward dance moves’ because that was what prom was supposed to be all about.

Once Malia and Kira had joined them at the table, Lydia excused herself, telling their group that she wasn’t feeling so well. Before Stiles could manage to ask if she wanted him to accompany her, Lydia had vanished from the gym.

They never even had their first dance.

* * *

Ever since Lydia and Stiles moved into their respective college dormitories, across the country from each other, Lydia had planned to tell him once and for all. Now that she couldn’t see him physically, she figured it would be easier to get rejected. She never imagined the opposite reaction, not taking Stiles for the type to practice long-distance relationships  _ if  _ he wanted to be with her. All she wished for was for Stiles to finally know.

Two months into their new lives at college, Lydia and Stiles had not yet broken their streak of video chatting every other night. By now, their dinner and night routines were in sync and neither had to message the other to ask what time they’d call. This Thursday night was no exception. Except, this was the night Lydia had decided to reveal everything.

“Stiles,” Lydia spoke up two hours into their call when Stiles had finished laughing over his own joke. “There's something I have to tell you.”

Stiles’ laughter ceased at the serious tone in her voice. He moved closer to the screen, his gaze curious, until he was startled by a couple of thuds coming from his side of the call.

“Give me a second, someone's knocking.” Lydia watched Stiles walk up to the door and open it through the pixelated screen. Moments later, a girl in a leather jacket entered. Out of all the new friends of Stiles he had introduced her to, she didn't recognise this one. When the girl got on her tiptoes to kiss Stiles on the mouth, Lydia understood why. “I'm on a call right now, can you wait around a bit?” He lowered his voice but Lydia managed to hear it through the echoing sounds.

When the stranger flumped on Stiles’ bed like it was the most casual thing in the world, Lydia's mouth finally gaped open.

Stiles shifted his attention back to Lydia with a dimpled smile, sitting down at his desk once again; Lydia forced herself to recover. “What did you want to tell me?”

She couldn't say it now. Not when a girl who kissed Stiles nonchalantly, like it wasn’t the hardest thing one could do, was in the room. Not when he was kissing anyone for that matter, in the room or not. So she moved on to the second big news that she'd conveniently received on the same day. 

“I… I got a scholarship. I need to work harder in order to maintain it but I could use that money for my research. And travelling home or, uh, to Washington.” Lydia’s cheeks reddened; they'd never talked about visiting each other other than back at Beacon Hills on their holidays. Lydia wasn’t sure if Stiles even wanted to see her - maybe he was happy to finally be away from her. She shrugged the thought off quickly; she was being silly. Why would he talk to her every other night if he didn't want to?

Stiles’ face lit up. “Good job! Sooner or later you will land that Fields Medal,” he said. “Look, I’d love to keep talking but Erica came over unexpectedly and I'm afraid I have to hang up.” He  _ looked  _ sorry.

Lydia nodded slowly. “Erica, your…”

“Erica, his girlfriend, nice to meet you.” The girl sat up on Stiles’ bed, staring at his laptop’s screen curiously. “Who are you?”

“I'm Lydia. His… friend. From back home.”

Erica’s once kind eyes darkened like she was hit by a realisation. She dedicated a knowing glance to Stiles and waved at him to come over. When he leaned over where she was sitting on the bed, Erica moved close to his ear, whispering something Lydia couldn’t hear. Stiles stood frozen. “Give me a second,” he whispered to Lydia before moving over to his laptop and muting himself. The pair settled on the bed, speaking for what felt like ages to Lydia and exchanging looks of anger.

Stiles had a girlfriend. A girlfriend who, by the looks of it, didn’t like Lydia at all. Stiles wondered what he had told Erica about her. Had he introduced her as the girl who ignored him for years or the girl he once loved. Perhaps with time, he could’ve seen her as both.

Eventually, Erica lied down flat on his mattress, scrolling on her phone, and Stiles returned to his desk to unmute himself. 

“Sorry. I have to go,” his tone had turned distressed. He bit his lip, moving his mouse across the surface for what Lydia figured was the  _ hangup  _ button.

“Don’t worry. Uh, have a fun night,” Lydia forced out along with a smile.

“You too.”

Stiles ended the call before Lydia could wave him goodbye.

Lydia leaned back in her chair, letting her mouth fall open. She scrolled up the chat, looking at their calls over the past weeks. Today, two hours. Tuesday, four and a half. The Sunday before, six hours. Not once did Stiles manage to tell her he was dating another girl.

Maybe it was fair. Lydia had never introduced herself as an option. And maybe seeing him kiss someone else yet again was deserved in return of her silence.

* * *

Before Lydia could realise, Christmas jingles sounded across the stores of Boston, inviting her into the holiday spirit, and she was packing her suitcase to go home for the break. Except, Lydia was well aware of the approaching assignment deadlines and that she’d spend half the holidays studying for her exams. Her mind was troubled by something else, however.

Stiles hadn’t spoken a word to her since she was introduced to Erica. Two days later, he didn’t respond to her call. For a month, she had tried to reach out to him but received the same response - silence. When December arrived, she had to focus on the workload that the end of the semester brought; by then, she had quite given up on any answer. In the cold of her bed every night, she would drift into sleep, wondering why.

When Scott picked her up at the airport after the long flight Lydia spent trying and failing to fall asleep due to the turbulence, Lydia was not in the mood for a catch-up conversation, although happy to be seeing her friend after four months. The only time she spoke to Scott during the car ride was when he’d asked her if she wanted anything from the gas station they’d stopped at fifty or so miles from Beacon Hills. Scott seemed to respect her silence, only glancing at her in the passenger seat a few times.

It took Lydia about a week to get accustomed to the lack of crowds on the streets, the traffic sounds never reaching her bedroom windows and the distant familiarity of her mattress at home. When she wasn’t writing her essays, she would go for a cup of coffee with Malia and Kira, cook dinner with her mum or go on gift hunts with Isaac and Scott (when the pair weren’t looking, she snatched a gift for Stiles, too). Even when surrounded by her friends and mum, loneliness crept up on her. As far as she was concerned, Stiles hadn’t even gone to Beacon Hills for the holidays and Lydia lacked the safety she had grown used to when he was around her. Beacon Hills no longer felt the same.

On the morning of Christmas Eve, Lydia found herself in the booth of the cafe with Isaac and Scott, arguing over the films the three of them, Kira and Malia would watch at their get-together that evening. Lydia listened to them, staring at the contents of her cup and nodding when either of them made a good suggestion.

“ _ Home alone 2 _ is a classic!”

“So is the third one. I can’t stand Macaulay Culkin’s face.”

“We could just watch both.”

“When are we supposed to watch  _ The Polar Express  _ then?”

“We could replace it with  _ How the Grinch Stole Christmas _ , it’s better anyway.”

“You’re sounding a lot like Stiles. He has a bad taste in movies, too.”

Lydia looked up from her drink at the sound of his name. Her movement silenced the couple at once.

“Speaking of Stiles.” His name fell from her lips with force. “Have you talked to him recently?”

Scott and Isaac glanced at each other, biting their lips. “I have,” said Scott, looking back at her.

Lydia sensed an unease forming between them, like she’d brought up a taboo topic. She shrugged it off, smiling briefly. “How is he?”

Scoot exhaled, putting his hand around his cup as if he sought some comfort. “He’s busy. Has some pre-FBI program he couldn’t get out of for the holidays. But he isn’t too sad about not coming home.” Scott turned his head down.

“How come?” Lydia sensed that she already knew the answer.

Scott licked his lips. “Well, he said it’d be lonely, without… Without his girlfriend.” He confirmed her suspicions as his eyes softened the longer he stared at Lydia.

“Oh,” she mouthed, shifting her attention back to the cup. The heat cloud had stopped coming from it a long time ago now.

“Lydia,” Scott called, his voice quiet. “Can you be honest with me? With us?” He pointed at him, then Isaac.

Lydia’s heartbeat sped up. “What about?”

“Why did you never tell him?” asked Scott.

“Tell him what?”

Scott rolled his eyes, growing impatient. “You know what. Why did you never tell him you loved him?”

Lydia’s mouth fell ajar. No one,  _ no one  _ in the pack had ever confronted her about it. Malia would sometimes roll her eyes when Lydia talked about Stiles a little too much, Kira would smile at her sadly, but no one had ever said a word. She wasn’t sure how to approach it.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” she shook her head, shaking off the surprise so clear on her face with it. Scott scoffed.

“Lydia, you  _ said  _ it. Twice while he was gone. The first time, when we didn’t remember him yet. The second when you  _ were  _ remembering him. You said you didn’t say it back. And I know what you were referring to.” He dropped the delicate approach. Lydia couldn’t pretend to be oblivious anymore.

“It’s complicated,” she forced out.

“Why? He loved you. You loved him. What’s so complicated?” Scott urged.

“How long he had to wait for the second.” Lydia swallowed loudly.

Scott’s eyes widened in realisation. “You feel guilty.” She nodded. Scott straightened up, leaning over his cup. “God, Lydia, falling in love is not something you can control. Sometimes it happens right away. Sometimes it comes unexpectedly.” Scott glanced at Isaac, smiling. Isaac returned the gesture. “Sometimes it comes after years and years.”

Lydia sniffed. Her emotions had taken over her. “I was too late.” Her voice broke more with each word. Scott shook his head violently, leaning back against the wall of the booth. “No, Lydia.  _ Now  _ you might be too late.  _ Now  _ he might have moved on, with someone else.” A sadness appeared in his eyes.

“Do you still love him?” Scott asked, his gaze so focused on her, Lydia felt as if he could see right through her. Her every thought, her every concealed emotion, all of her regret.

Lydia said nothing but she knew her expression spoke more than words ever could. Scott looked at her knowingly. His body twitched like he wanted to scoot over to embrace her. Then, his eyes widened at something behind her, outside the booth. “What are you doing here?” Scott asked.

“I heard the whole pack was in town. I couldn’t  _ not  _ come. Washington can wait for a few days,” said Stiles.

That voice. Hearing  _ those  _ rises and falls of his voice in person after four months of yearning for them was simply too much for Lydia. As she turned around in her seat, facing Stiles, whose figure was shaped by the morning sunlight, Lydia felt like she was going to cry more. Four months. That was the longest they’d been apart since becoming friends. “Hi.” He quietened his voice, looking down at Lydia momentarily before shifting his attention to Isaac and Scott. She couldn’t breathe.

“Am I interrupting something?” Stiles asked, sensing the atmosphere. Lydia forced a smile, shaking her head. A hint of disbelief appeared in his eyes but he shook it off, moving to settle down in the empty seat on Lydia’s right. She inhaled sharply, caught off-guard by his sudden presence. Even if he heard her, he ignored it. “So. Party tonight, I reckon? I want to see everyone,” declared Stiles.

“We’re celebrating at Lydia’s. Us three, Kira, Malia. Though, we’re doing Secret Santa. I’m afraid you’re too late to join,” Scott pursed his lips.

“No,” Lydia voiced a little too passionately, startling Stiles. “I have a gift for him. I can be his not-so-secret Santa.  _ And  _ Isaac’s.” She eyed the boy who stopped the drink he had in hand at his mouth, the foam staying over his lips.

“I  _ knew  _ it,” Isaac broke his silence, licking away the foam. “You had that look on your face when you picked up the paper. A look of pure  _ evil _ .”

The four of them laughed, soothing the tension that had formed in their booth a moment ago. Hearing Stiles’ laughter added to the ease, too.

“Yeah. Be my not-so-secret Santa, Lydia. I can be yours.” Stiles glanced at her, dedicating one of his rare happy smiles to her. For the following minutes, Lydia hid her face behind her snow-cold drink, well aware of how flustered she’d appeared.

* * *

Hours and hours after watching  _ Home Alone 3  _ and  _ How the Grinch Stole Christmas _ and opening their presents in the candlelit living room, Lydia was washing the dishes, hearing nothing but the murmur of her friends from the other room and the clinking of plates. She’d missed him sneaking up on her either.

“Hey,” called Stiles, speaking over the running tap. Lydia jumped, letting a glass slip out of her hands. It hit the floor with a bang, shattering into pieces. The murmur in the other room ceased. “Don’t worry, just a glass!” Lydia exclaimed, and quickly enough the noise returned.

“Oh, I’m sorry, I just…” Stiles rambled, kneeling to help her pick up the bigger pieces.

“What is it?” Lydia asked impatiently, landing her hand on a piece of glass at the same time as Stiles’. Like she’d been burnt by his touch - and maybe she had, Lydia pulled her hand back, settling for a piece closer to her.

“Can we talk somewhere?” Stiles asked when they’d discarded the remains of the glass.

“Is it urgent?”

Stiles blinked at the irritation so apparent in her tone. “Are you so busy?”

Lydia tilted her head, pouting her lips. She’d nearly finished her cleaning. “Depends on what you want to talk about.” She let her arms fall to her sides.

Stiles chewed on his bottom lip, standing frozen in front of her. “How about why I’ve been ignoring you for the past two months?”

Lydia’s forehead wrinkled. After a day of pretending that nothing had happened, a day of forced laughter and her heart racing at the unusual lack of eye contact they shared, Stiles wanted to address his silence at last.

“That only remotely interests me.” She pretended for a while longer. “But go on.”

Stiles glanced at the door to the living room, shaking his head. “Can we take this outside? Or to your room?”

Lydia nodded, drying her hands in a towel before stumping into the hallway outside the kitchen. She lingered there for a moment, deciding between their two options. Whatever was to come, Lydia needed fresh air. She grabbed her coat from the clothestand and put it over her shoulders. When Stiles caught up with her, he followed her example.

In silence, Lydia and Stiles walked out onto the porch. The second the winter breeze came in contact with the heat in her cheeks, Lydia shivered. She sat on the steps in front of the house, hugging her knees to her chest. Stiles settled down beside her, leaving a few feet between them.

“It was hard not talking to you. I wanted to but I had no choice.” His breath came out foggy, and Lydia realised he was shivering just the same.

Her eyebrows raised. “No choice?”

“Erica, she…” Stiles blinked more than usual, and Lydia reckoned his anxiety had made an appearance. “She didn’t like that we still talked. And I realised too late how she had no right telling me how to live my life.”

“Why didn’t she want us to talk?”

“I told her everything about our, well, supernatural adventures. I can’t continue hiding those secrets because keeping them has repeatedly hurt someone. Like not telling my dad back then. You just have to tell the people you care about so that they’re prepared.” Lydia nodded in understanding; she wished she had told her mum sooner, too. “Telling her about everything we’ve been through, it involved revealing more than that. The friends I have. My relationships with them. How Scott has been my best friend since we were kids. Who I’ve dated. Who I’ve loved.” Stiles paused. “How I loved you, for instance.”

Lydia looked down at her feet, the heels she’d picked from the bottom of her wardrobe - the only ones she hadn’t left behind in Boston. Her eyes watered. Stiles said  _ loved _ , not  _ love _ . Past tense. She remembered the smile on his face after Erica had kissed him. Of course he would use the past tense.

“And Erica didn’t like that. She had this thought, after hearing everything, how I might still… I might still not be over you.” Silence surrounded them as Stiles scrambled for words. Lydia used it to utter something she’d never expected to, staring back up at him. “Are you?”

His lingered open in surprise. “Stiles,  _ are  _ you over me?” If she’d gained enough courage for once, she couldn’t stop now.

“You don’t get to ask that,” he said through clenched teeth. Lydia scooted farther from him.

“I’m so-”

“You don’t get to ask that,” he repeated, interrupting her. Stiles clenched his fists over his knees, while Lydia stared at him with an opened mouth. “You can’t ask me that. You know, the past ten years I spent liking you, then loving you, then getting over you.  _ Ten  _ years, Lydia. While not even once you’ve given me a straight answer. You’ve never said yes and you’ve never said no. So, this time, you don’t get to ask me that.”

Lydia felt like she had been paralysed by kanima venom. Confrontation wasn’t something Lydia was used to. Especially from Stiles, who looked away now, expecting no reaction from her once again. After all, she’d never given him an answer before. But he was wrong.

“What if I said…” Lydia started slowly, easing into what she was about to reveal. Stiles’ eyes widened and panic crept into them. “That you’re right. You’re absolutely right, Stiles. I have never told you the answer. Do you want to know why?”

Stiles didn’t move or even blink. Lydia took it as a yes, inhaling deeply as she connected her trembling hands over her knees.

“If I said no, I could break our trust, I could break your heart. I wouldn’t want that, I don’t ever want to cause you any more pain than I’ve already had,” Lydia paused but not long enough for him to protest. “If I said yes, well, that would be complicated. Being too late. Taking too long to catch up to you. Risking losing everything I’ve had with you for the simple reason that no relationship I’ve been in has worked out. All of them ended on bad terms. If I said yes, I could risk losing you. Again.” She wasn’t avoiding his gaze, not this time. “Whichever I would say, would hurt you right away or eventually.”

“Well,  _ you’re _ wrong,” claimed Stiles, straightening up. “If you said no, I could finally have some kind of closure. If you said yes and if we did end up apart,  _ eventually,  _ that would still be a hundred times better than refusing to answer.”

It was time. Lydia had avoided this for too long, searching for the right moment for too long. Missing out for the simple reason of being too scared of what he would say. It was time she explained everything.

Lydia stared at him for a second, the goosebumps growing on his bare skin, the blue under his eyes from sleeping in the aeroplane last night and the golden glow in his eyes that had grown colder every day since he’d returned from the Hunt, almost silver when his eyes were on her. She studied him, knowing that this was the last moment he looked back at her that way.

The second her mouth opened, so did the part in her mind she’d locked up a long time ago. The one that kept her from revealing her secrets.

“At winter formal, you know. You told me you liked me. I had no idea. Or maybe I knew. I mean, some part of me, perhaps. And from that night on I remember considering you my friend. How could I not, when someone saw through me for once? When someone dared to speak to me in a way no one ever had before?” Lydia never looked away, studying the change of expression on Stiles’ face. Oblivious. “When you were possessed and disappeared the night you ended up in the forest, I was in your room looking for clues with Aiden. He showed me this drawing of mine you had framed. He pointed out to me that you’re not over me. I had no idea you still felt the same way then.” Frustrated. “I remember before you were taken away, so well, even though I couldn’t for a while. You said you loved me. Not liked me. Not had a crush on me. Loved me.” Surprised. “And then you returned and expected an answer, rightfully so. And I didn’t give you one. And I regret it more than anything. I  _ wish  _ I could go back to that night and change it. I wish I had stayed in your car and said it. Or done it when I saw you in the locker room. But it was too hard. It didn’t have to be, but it was. You know why?” Stiles remained still, but she didn’t expect an answer. “Because I couldn’t say it. That’s it. I couldn’t tell you because of the guilt that built up inside me ever since the winter formal. I couldn’t tell you then, or any time over the past years. I couldn’t tell you that I never understood love, not the one my parents had before they split up, not the one you see in movies between characters that are simply perfect for each other, not until I saw you, standing there in front of me, three months after you told me you loved me. And then at prom, well, I  _ tried  _ to tell you. I tried to  _ kiss  _ you. On the night you stopped talking to me, I was finally going to tell you but then...” Lydia paused again; she’d been over what she’d wanted to tell him so many times, she’d practically memorised it. Saying it now, to his face, not in front of a mirror who she pretended was him, was much different. She wanted to shut her eyes but didn’t allow herself to, not at the most important part. “It really isn’t fair to you, understanding so late. And it isn’t fair to you how long you waited. It’s not fair to you to have seen me pretending to be in love with others while you suffered in silence. I understood it. Seeing you with Malia and not being able to tell anyone about how that felt - it broke me. And you had to go through that, too. It really is terrible. For the longest time, I thought it was horrible loving someone and just as horrible being away from them, and that it isn’t worth it. But by now I’ve realised that there really is no on or off button. If you love someone, there’s nothing you can do to stop it.”

She let the silence surround them, tenser than ever before, maybe except for when she’d seen him in the locker room, looking at her expectantly. When Stiles kept the quiet between them, his face unreadable now, Lydia opened her mouth once again. “What I’m trying to say is yes. Yes, but I’m simply too late.”

All at once, all emotion returned to Stiles’ face. All emotion he’d ever felt was trapped in his watering eyes, who no longer bore even a hint of the silver.

“You loved me?” Stiles’ voice came out in a whisper.

“Yes,” Lydia assured, pinching her lips together and pouting them out in a sad smile. Stiles broke their eye contact, scoffing as he stared at the street. In seconds, he turned back to her. His gaze darted from her hands to her mouth and her eyes.

“When I was with Malia?” Lydia nodded. “When I broke up with her?” Lydia repeated the movement. “Before I was taken away? When you got me back?” Two nods.

With every nod, both their eyes watered more.

“And now?” asked Stiles.

Lydia didn’t move.

“Lydia,” he said louder. “I can’t know unless you tell me so. Not for sure.”

Lydia nodded, slowly.

“ _ Why? _ ” Stiles breathed out. His hands, once clenched together, fell to the wooden step of her porch. “Why did you think it was too late?”

Lydia shut her eyelids, letting one too many teardrops escape and stream down her freezing skin. “Because I don’t know how to make loving someone work.” She leaned over her knees and wrapped her arms around them. She didn’t want Stiles seeing her cry again. He remained silent, waiting until her tears would dry enough for her to face him again. She sniffled over her dress until she forced herself to stop hiding. When she looked at Stiles, she knew that he’d been watching her the whole time.

“Out of all these times, you weren’t too late. You weren’t too late at any point in Junior or Senior year. Malia and I didn’t even love each other.” He laughed but it sounded more like a hiss. “We were together because both of us wanted to be with someone else we thought we didn’t have a chance with. You weren’t too late at any point, not prom or graduation, or even when we said goodbye to each other at the airport,” Stiles paused, tilting his head in frustration. “But this one time, you managed to be.”

Lydia nodded in understanding. She hadn’t expected anything else, but her regret grew with every word he’d said. She wondered where they would be now if she’d told him before; if they would sit in the cold with teary eyes or their friends in the living room, cuddled up. With every word he’d said, the latter reality seemed more unreachable, ever. But Lydia still had to ask. “Can I know your answer now?”

“No.”

“Does it mean I can’t know or is that your answer?”

“No, I am not over you,” Stiles breathed out, his exasperation apparent in his voice. “No matter who I’ll end up with, I don’t think I’ll ever be completely over you.”

Not over her. Lydia couldn’t tell what was worse - if he still loved her but they couldn’t be together or if he no longer loved her at all. She forced a smile, stopping any remaining tears from falling.

“Where do we go from here?” asked Lydia.

“Nowhere.” Stiles shrugged, displaying the same kind of smile. “I have to go back to Washington. My schedule is packed with the program. I have to return after Christmas.”

“Back to Erica,” said Lydia.

Stiles nodded, somewhat hopelessly. “Her, too.”

He might not be over her but whatever they were, it  _ was  _ over.

“I get it.” Lydia  _ meant  _ her smile now. She did. After everything, she understood.

Stiles shook his head violently. “You don’t have to.”

“Really, it’s fine,” urged Lydia, spotting the disbelief in his eyes. “I’m just glad you finally know.” 

“You say it’s fine. But are you?”

Lydia looked away momentarily. Even though a part of her shattered into a billion miserable pieces, another felt relief. She no longer had to dread the next time she saw Stiles, the burden she’d carried had vanished. Still, those little pieces seemed to take over.

“I’m not but it’s what I expected,” she admitted. She'd learnt that saying nothing never worked out. Realising that her bare legs were almost turning to ice now, she stood up slowly. The moment she moved, the tension between them disappeared. “I need to get back. There’s still a lot to clean up before my mum gets home from the dance.”

“Let me help you.” Stiles followed her to the door. Lydia turned around, removing her hand from the door handle. “We both know that’s not smart right now. You should get back home, too. Your dad must be waiting on you,” she guessed.

“He won’t be in Beacon Hills until morning. And I don’t like sleeping alone at home anyway. I thought I could…” Stiles shrugged whatever thought he had away. “I’ll, uh, talk to Scott about staying over at his.”

“Yeah. That’s smart.” Lydia dedicated one last smile to him before turning the handle and reentering the warmth of her house, which contrasted from both the outside and the growing feeling inside her heart.

* * *

“Stiles, I know I said you could stay at mine because your dad’s away. I even ditched Isaac. But your tossing and turning is making me hate being a good friend.”

Stiles hadn’t a clue how long he’d lied awake beside Scott in the darkness of his room, but  _ years  _ must’ve gone by from Lydia’s confession. In reality, it must’ve been four hours at most. 

“Guess you’ll have to deal with it,” Stiles grunted, rolling over on his back, pretending to find the ceiling of Scott’s room fascinating.

“Are you okay?”

“Not really.”

Scott sat up, looking down at his friend. “What’s wrong?”

“A life dilemma, yet again.”

“What’s happened?”

Stiles exhaled loudly, stroking his temples. He was sensing a headache from his lack of sleep. Not that he wasn’t used to it but he had no intentions of sacrificing Scott’s sleep before Christmas morning, his favourite day of the year. It seemed that Scott didn’t mind, however.

“Christmas Eve was fun and all.” Stiles copied Scott’s movement, covering his chest with his blanket for the night. “Until Lydia told me she was in love with me. And still is, apparently.”

Scott’s eyes widened. “Let me go back a couple of questions. Why are you not okay? Why are you not jumping around the room? In fact, why are you currently in  _ my  _ bed?”

Stiles laughed humorlessly. “Because I have a girlfriend. In Washington. Far, far away from Lydia.”

“That explains it,” Scott agreed.

“Can you  _ believe  _ her? Why didn’t she tell me? She had so many opportunities,” said Stiles, annoyance creeping into his tired voice.

“Why didn’t you ask her out  _ once  _ in the first eight years you liked her?” Scott made a point Stiles didn’t want to admit.

Lydia had never been in his reach, either a desk or a few seats at a lacrosse game away. Not until Sophomore year, when their lives intertwined. The one thing the supernatural brought into his life that Stiles was grateful for was Lydia.

“I was a  _ kid. _ I knew nothing,” Stiles protested, crossing his arms.

Scott scoffed. “What makes you think Lydia isn’t in the same place?”

“She did explain…”

“See, don’t blame Lydia,” Scott interrupted him.

Stiles furrowed his eyebrows, eyeing him suspiciously. “Are you on my side or not?”

“I’m on no one’s side. You’re both my friends.”

“Fine,” Stiles dropped the glare. “What do I do then?”

“Isn’t it obvious?”

“Not to me.”

“Stiles, who is the  _ one  _ person you’ve spent half of your life pining for?”

Stiles looked away. He studied the shadows dancing ever so slowly across the room’s walls and contrasting with the orange light emitted from the streetlamps. Each time a car interrupted the quiet of the night and passed Scott’s house, its headlights replaced the shades of orange and blue with bright yellow. Orange and blue. Stiles smiled to himself.  _ Orange and blue - not a good combination,  _ Lydia’s words from two years ago sounded in his head.

_ Sometimes there are other things you wouldn’t think would be a good combination that end up turning out to be like a perfect combination, you know? Like.. two people.. together, who nobody ever thought would be together… Ever,  _ Stiles had responded then.

At the time, with Lydia beside him on the bleachers of an almost deserted ice skating arena, all Stiles could think about was that, with each passing day, the chance of them becoming more than almost-friends grew bigger. He’d never guessed that two years later, he’d be shifting around Scott’s bed, hyper-focusing on Lydia’s confession. That Lydia’s feelings would, indeed, match his eventually.

“You know it’s Lydia,” Stiles exhaled, meeting Scott’s eyes again. “But I’m with Erica. And she’s great, I like her.”

Scott bit his lip, thinking. “But is she Lydia?”

“No. But…”

“Do you think you can love Erica, eventually?” Scott cut him off before he could come up with another excuse.

Stiles’ first instinct said ‘no’. He’d never loved anyone other than Lydia. He’d never imagined loving someone to the same extent as her. But would that mean he was incapable of learning how to?

“I haven’t really thought about a future with her,” Stiles settled for logic. Scott rolled his eyes as if offended.

“Stiles, what did you tell me on the last day of sophomore year, when we were practising lacrosse?”

Stiles’ eyebrows furrowed. “That you can’t cheat with your werewolf strength? Which you did anyway, by the way.”

Scott shook his head. “Before that. The part about Lydia.”

Stiles’ mouth opened in realisation. He turned his head down in embarrassment. “That my plan on making her fall in love with me might stretch out from 10 to 15 years? You know it was a stupid joke.”

Scott sighed, covering his face with his hands. He peeked through his fingers at Stiles, who pretended to look entirely unaffected. Scott let his hands fall on the mattress. “That might’ve been a joke yet you still imagined a future with her in it, didn’t you? We were all becoming friends. It was an opportunity to get closer to her, an opportunity to step up, and I don’t know, ask her out.” Scott shrugged. “Not that you ever used it. That’s not the way you wanted her to fall for you if she ever would. You wished for it to come naturally, you were patient and you didn’t care how long it would take, if ever. And now that she told you she  _ does  _ love you, you’re reacting as if you had never spent all that time waiting on her.”

Whatever time Stiles  _ had  _ spent seemed irrelevant now that it was real. But it simply could not have come at a worse time.

“Scott, I can’t do this,” Stiles’ voice quietened to a whisper. “I can't just break up with Erica because Lydia says we have a chance. I don't want to be an asshole.”

“Do you want to be with Lydia?”

His heart screamed ‘yes’. His brain, however, was in doubt.

“It doesn't work like that,” Stiles protested, his voice rising. “She's not good with these things. What if I let go of Erica and I  _ do  _ end up with Lydia but she finds it too complicated? What if Lydia can’t get over her guilt? What if  _ I _ can’t?”

“Isn't it worth taking a risk? After everything you've been through together,” Scott nudged. Stiles dropped his gaze on Scott, investigating the orange and blue once again.

Ten years ago, after his mum had passed away and he’d returned to school, Lydia had taken the empty seat beside him in class. In breaks, she’d sit by his side on the floor, doing her homework while others played. She never said a word to him, except for an uttered ‘good morning’ or ‘bye, bye’, and he found comfort in their silence. The night before he wanted to ask her to be his friend, to finally talk to her, Lydia’s parents had decided to split up. That morning, she took the only available seat across the class from him and never said anything to him again until Sophomore year. The rest - their investigations, their fights against those who wanted to hurt someone,  _ anyone _ , their attempts at saving each other, their growing connection, their cafe visits, their passed notes in class,  _ every  _ moment they shared as friends - was history.

Stiles looked back up with tears forming in his eyes. “I can't lose Lydia,” he whispered. There had been enough times he almost had.

“If you don't do anything about it, you will,” said Scott, a sort of sadness apparent on his face even in the darkness. “You never got over her, right? You still love her?”

“Of course I do,” Stiles defended. “But it's different now than it was before the last years of high school, our lives - they’re different. You and I were just two kids. Everything that we went through, it made us grow up quicker. At some point, it affected the way we see other people, too. How important it is to stay close to the people we love.  _ How  _ we love. I used to just have a crush on her until we were thrown into this another  _ reality  _ where anyone could be stolen from us at any moment, until she became a  _ real  _ part of my life, not just someone who I sat behind in biology. And when you are introduced to  _ that  _ kind of…love, you don’t really care about anything other than ensuring that person was happy. You’re right, a part of me  _ was  _ waiting on her, but the other part didn’t care if she ever did come around. That is until she brought me back from the Hunt. And now, because she never said anything, because she never  _ did  _ anything, I stopped caring again. I started trying to get over her. And I was on my way to getting successful.” Stiles pinched his lips together momentarily. “Until tonight,” he added.

Scott shut his eyes. Stiles couldn’t tell if he was growing more tired (after all it must’ve been at least three in the morning) or irritated. When he reopened them, they flashed red for a second. “Stiles, you waited for this for so long. Now that you finally know, why aren’t you doing something about it?”

In truth, Stiles had begun to run out of excuses. The only one that mattered to him now was Erica. As terrible as he felt about breaking up with her, she didn’t deserve to be put in the middle of whatever Lydia and he were.

“Hold on,” Stiles spoke suddenly. Lines formed in his forehead. “Why do I get a feeling this wasn’t news to you?”

“Because it wasn’t,” Scott admitted guiltily. “Lydia admitted it this morning. But I knew it for a long time. Everyone else guessed. I tried. I tried telling you. I mean, I did, the day after you returned from the Hunt. But you-”

“I wasn’t ready to believe it. And Lydia, she wasn’t ready to say it,” Stiles smiled sadly, recalling the hopelessness he’d felt that day. “It’s not your fault,” he added when he noticed the guilt still apparent in Scott’s expression.

Scott shook his head. “It isn’t Lydia’s either. Don’t convince yourself of that.”

“Whose fault is it then?” asked Stiles, leaning back against Scott’s pillow.

“Timing’s,” said Scott, moving back under the covers. Once again, he was right.

* * *

A typical night of studying in her room, an hour, maybe two, until midnight. Except it wasn’t a typical midnight, as she was reminded by the loud party music blasting from her neighbours’ flats and the fireworks setting off annoyingly little before their time.

Lydia never liked New Year’s Eve; she perceived it as any other day. Other’s sudden change in behaviour, as if the human-made concept of time and date ever meant anything and the first of January ever changed a thing, quite irritated her. The worst of all, she couldn’t stand the belief that however one spends the night before the next year begins means how it will turn out for them. She really  _ did _ hate it, until a knock on her door disturbed her. She was prepared to say ‘no’ to whoever had come to her room to invite her to their party until the person standing on the opposite side of the door turned out to be Stiles, in a suit for that matter, although messily put together as if he’d dressed up at the last moment. Before the realisation that she was  _ not _ hallucinating hit her, she took a mental picture; he looked  _ good _ .

“Hey,” he said in the most casual way, failing to conceal the grin creeping onto his cheeks.

With her hand glued to the doorknob, Lydia blinked in confusion. Stiles  _ was  _ here, flesh and bones, having arrived with no warning whatsoever. “Hi? Why are you-”

“Lydia, there is something I’ve wanted to do so long ago. Something we should’ve done like a forever ago,” Stiles cut her off. His grin was growing wider the longer they looked at each other, Lydia - baffled and Stiles - satisfied.

“What?” Lydia pushed the door until it hit the postered wall of her room with a thud. Stiles remained still, his hands held together over his belt.

“We haven’t watched Star Wars together,” he said seriously.

That was certainly not the answer Lydia had expected. Not that she’d had any expectations. 

“You came all the way to Boston on New Year’s Eve to watch Star Wars with me?” She eyed him suspiciously, tilting her head sideways. 

“Not just that.” Stiles shook his head. “I needed some kind of a build-up. Star Wars was the first to come to mind.”

“A build-up for what?”

Stiles hesitated, looking her up and down. His mouth hung open at the remotely festive dress she’d picked on one of her depressive clothes’ hunts after arriving in Boston from the alike holidays. Lydia appreciated having decided to put on an outfit attractive enough to have that kind of an effect on him. Not that Stiles hadn’t looked at her that way regardless of what she was wearing. His mouth shut but only for a second.

“For a new beginning, where no one’s in the picture anymore, trying to hold you or me back. One where I’m still in love with you, and I mean really,  _ really  _ love you, and you, apparently, feel the same way,” Stiles voiced, his gaze falling on her face turning softer. Lydia’s eyes froze open while her heart threatened to jump out of her throat. “Erica is out of the picture, I mean. We talked and… We both knew it wasn’t right. So here I am.”

They stood silently, the tension building up in the distance between them with each millisecond. So many thoughts were rushing through Lydia’s mind, she couldn’t find any words to say. Other than the obvious.

“I love you.”

Lydia did not say it as a confirmation or a confession. She said it like a first hello, like a promise that she always would. The three words fell from her lips easier than she had imagined they would. All of the sudden, her body was struck by the same overwhelmingly burning sensation she’d rediscovered the second she remembered Stiles in the tunnels’ freezer room. This time, there was no sadness to it, no fear of never seeing the person who she felt so strongly towards again. This time, he stood a few feet in front of her, and she watched him closely; not because she was afraid of losing him once more. For the first time, she would have him.

“Can I ki-” Lydia couldn’t finish her sentence. Stiles had pushed himself forward, connecting their lips for what was not the first time but felt like it could have been.

Lydia, even if massively shocked, kissed him back immediately. Having waited a long time, perhaps too long, but not  _ as  _ long as the boy kissing her, Lydia could not hold back anymore. In seconds, her arms dragged Stiles forward and the door clicked shut behind them. Lydia’s fingers then caught his hair, and her lips parted with each kiss. Stiles  _ definitely  _ wasn’t holding back now, in fact, she reckoned all the pent up feelings, all the years spent waiting for this one moment, all of it reflected in the way his mouth was moving with hers. Lydia continued dragging him towards her, her other hand tugging at his collar, pushing him as close as possible until her thighs came in contact with the edge of her bed, and, having realised so, Lydia pulled an inch away.

“Can we skip the whole first date thing?” She hoped Stiles understood the implication. When his eyes widened, she knew he did.

“Please, Lydia, we’ve had dozens of dates since Sophomore year, whether we called them that or not,” he said, rolling his eyes. “Yes.”

“You’re sure?”

“Very much so. You?”

“Positive,” Lydia breathed out before meeting his lips again, with her arms loosely hung around his neck.

While Stiles expected to land Lydia on her back, Lydia thought otherwise, swinging him around and pushing him down, not even as harshly as she’d intended to. Stiles let out a small laugh as Lydia lied down on top of him with their hands intertwined over his head, staring earnestly into his eyes before leaning back down to kiss him, harder than before, her legs on each side of his waist. Stiles didn’t hesitate either; his hands moved from up and down her back, exploring each covered and bare inch until eventually unzipping her dress.

In a matter of minutes, when the clothes they’d thrown had landed across the carpeted floor, Lydia had forgotten to ever have  _ not  _ been with him. Each time their lips met once more, they grew to taste more familiar, fading the memory of any kiss she’d shared with someone other than him. One day, she thought, they would be erased completely.

“It’s almost midnight,” said Lydia an hour or two later, watching the glowing time on her laptop’s screen over Stiles’ head - the only light in her room. Eleven fifty-six. Four minutes.

“Good,” his smile grew wider. “I wish I could spend every day of the next year like this.” For once, Lydia hoped that whoever started the belief was correct.

They were lying on her bed, facing one another,  _ so  _ close, Lydia felt his warm breath on her skin. Lydia studied every inch of his face that was once unreachable.

“I should’ve told you a  _ long  _ time ago,” she uttered, moving her hand to his cheek to caress it. His eyes shut momentarily before opening back up. He dedicated to her that one look she wished she’d never get accustomed to, one full of adoration. Lydia doubted she looked at him any differently.

“I don’t know. We’re not in the middle of running from razor-clawed monsters anymore. Maybe this was the right time,” guessed Stiles, copying Lydia’s hand movement. Their arms were now crossed, each hand nuzzling the other’s cheek. Her heart could not beat any faster.

“Stiles,” Lydia whispered, her mind burdened by a memory. “I have been wanting to ask you this for ages.”

“What?”

“Did I do the right thing? When I kissed you, back then?” Lydia’s voice trembled.

Stiles squinted. “You have to remind me which time.”

“The first time.” Lydia beamed. “Did you think I was misleading you?”

Stiles glanced away from her, staring up with eyes unfocused. Thinking. Lydia peeked at the clock. Eleven fifty-eight.

“No,” he said, reconnecting their eyes. “You helped me. It was a shock but a necessary one. You didn’t do anything wrong.” Lydia exhaled sharply in relief. 

“Have I  _ ever  _ done anything wrong?” She asked again, less afraid now.

“No.”

Lydia’s eyebrows furrowed. “Really?” 

“You might’ve torn my shirt earlier,” Stiles quipped, his eyes filling with amusement. “I’ll be expecting full insurance coverage.” The sound of their laughter clashed as one.

“Can I repay you in another way?” Lydia asked shamelessly, pouting her lips.

Stiles laughed again. “Depends. What are you thinking?”

Lydia closed the distance between them once again, pressing her lips softly against his, then quickening the motion until she could hear Stiles’ heart beating uncontrollably from his chest. Lydia shifted even closer until their almost bare bodies collided as if they became a whole. When the heat reached an almost irrepressible level, she pulled away.

“Yep. That works,” Stiles breathed out heavily. “I’ll need a lot of these though. It was an expensive shirt.” Lydia rolled her eyes but kissed him again. The clock then ticked midnight and fireworks of every colour of the rainbow set off outside Lydia’s window, illuminating their faces.

* * *

Lydia never liked holding hands. Kissed cheeks. Fingers brushing against her forehead, shuffling through her hair. Lydia never liked any of those things. Not until those touches were coming from him.

Kissing at airports became their new hello’s. Intertwined hands were a necessity at the back of the taxi. Whispered I love you’s were their new goodnight’s.

During what could’ve been Lydia’s third Washington visit, she realised how much Stiles had been holding back before. How much  _ she  _ had been holding back. Although whatever time they’d wasted no longer mattered to them anymore, Lydia wondered if they would've remained so close if she’d told him sooner.

Lydia couldn’t predict if Stiles and her would ever drift apart but the fear no longer controlled her. She treasured every second she got to spend with Stiles, whether quiet or loud, while arranging plans for a future they shared closer than a thousand miles away.

And there was not the smallest chance they would ever try to hold back again.

**Author's Note:**

> hope you enjoyed this 13k slow burn, which i may or may not have written while i should've been writing my university assignments. oops.
> 
> a couple of announcements:  
> \- i will not be continuing my chaptered stydia series 'butterflies' due to personal reasons. i am sorry to disappoint if you had been looking forward to a new chapter.  
> \- this is my return as a one shot writer and it will remain that way from now on!
> 
> i have to do three assignments due january so we will see when i'll be making another comeback :D thank you for sticking around, comments are always appreciated.
> 
> \- dylan @piinofs (twitter)


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